A Ways to Go
by I.Dream.Of.Hardyz
Summary: "I've been a Rolling Stone, all my life, flying all alone, flying blind. I've seen it all, I've been around. I've been lost and I've been found." One second changes Dalton's life forever, single-handedly ending his career while giving life to something else that could've never blossomed had everything stayed the same. Jalton, but not for a bit. Whump.
1. Chapter 1

**So I wouldn't really say I'm a Jalton shipper. I mean, I think they're an interesting pairing, but I can't seem to find a way they would be together unless something were to happen. In my eyes, Jaz would never compromise her spot in the team, and Dalton has a position to fill as team leader. That said, there is something a bit enthralling about forbidden scenarios, and sometimes in the fan fiction land, you can explore them. So here we are.**

 **Songs that inspired this fic: Who I Am With You by Chris Young, and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls.**

 **I'm going to let this first chapter speak for itself, and then I'll chat some more come the next one.**

 **Also, my Brave muse is alive and flourishing, which is probably not good for my real life, but oh so good for fanfiction.**

 **Enjoy. ;)**

 **PeaceLoveJaz**

* * *

 _And I'd give up forever to touch you_

 _'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

It was as routine as it got with their team, the operation that changed everything. Until it wasn't, of course.

Jaz watched it unfold from her nest, finger poised on the trigger, waiting for an order when all hell broke loose. Even with her expertise, she was no match against a bomb they didn't know would go off. Hell, that the team didn't even know was even there. One second, she's waiting on the order from Dalton, the next the air is thick with smoke and she can smell fire. Amir, Dalton, and Preach were right near the impact zone. McGuire was off a bit further to the side.

It was eerily silent as the smoke thickened, then started to dissipate. Noah and Hannah were barking orders into the phone, while McGuire shouted for her to follow, while he tried to get to the others. Her heart raced, wondering what they would find. The team always managed to come out relatively unscathed. Sure, she was captured once, Preach had only been blown up several months back… but they survived. They always came out stronger.

This would be different.

Jaz got to the impact zone and saw the remains of a bomb scattered around her. It went off so abruptly she couldn't pinpoint where it came from. They were dealing with an extremist, one whose men had killed an undercover CIA agent that Noah knew back in his farm days who had been compromised, and they were there to extract information that was left behind in his safe house under an eye only they could find. Apparently, the men had left traces behind, too. If they couldn't have it, no one could.

The land before the house was in ruins. Had there been a trigger? Was someone watching them? Too many possibilities were assaulting her at once when she heard McG yell for her help. Preach was limping, but conscious, Amir bleeding from several shrapnel wounds, but standing… her heart sank into her stomach at the motionless man on the ground beside McGuire. Dalton wasn't moving.

 _BraveBraveBraveBraveBrave_

"I'm not dead," Dalton murmured when he came to in the hospital nearly two weeks later, having been in a coma for that time. He, surrounded by the team, gave the team a weak smirk, trying to sit up and failing because of several broken ribs. "Fantastic."

"Good to see your eyes open again, Adam," Preach said appreciatively, coming forward first to gently clasp the man's shoulder. Despite the head wound he sustained, he'd also fractured his collar bone, broken three ribs, and dislocated his jaw. There were various shrapnel wounds, but every doctor that came into the room (And shit, Jaz thought, there were a lot of them) said he was more than blessed to not be missing any limbs. She didn't know if blessed was the word.

Dalton shimmed in his bed, clearly in pain but not willing to admit it. "How long was I out?" The team filled him in, and she saw the relief flood McG. He always took to injured team mates in a way that she knew was special. He was supposed to care for them when they got hurt. She saw it when Preach was injured months back, and had seen it for the last two weeks. Amir, on the other hand, prayed a lot. He also left the room, came into the room, paced, and then left again coming back with coffee minutes later. Rinse, repeat. She just sat there, haunted by the idea of Top not waking back up.

The doctors were hopeful from the beginning. McGuire translated the awful doctor speak, stating that his vitals were strong and his brain activity levels normal, but as each day passed and he sat in a state similar to Preach's, her panic grew. Almost losing Preach nearly killed her; she couldn't lose Dalton. She loved Preach, he was the closest thing to a father figure in her life, but Dalton was different. Their bond was different.

It couldn't happen.

"Where's Amir?"

"Getting coffee probably. Kid's been drinking more than probably healthy," Preach reasoned. "I'm sure he'll be back soon. How's the pain, Adam?"

Point one for Preach: he could tell Dalton was in pain. Point two: he used Top's first name so that he'd understand the answer was to be honest. And clearly, it annoyed Dalton.

"Tolerable."

"Fool," he said goodheartedly, hitting the page button so the doctors could come in. At the time, as Dalton scowled at his long time friend, she assumed everything would be alright. Everything in her CO's body would heal, and in a few months time, they'd be back on rotation and life would go on as normal.

Luck eventually ran out.

It started with what he said was just black spots in his vision. Dalton, much like herself and the others, was not one for rest, and was set on coming back as soon as possible. He worked himself tirelessly at the hospital gym, where Jaz would join him and they would work together. She'd seen him stop a time or two, blinking rapidly while holding weights, then shake his head and start again. She assumed he was over working it. If it was anything else, he'd clearly say it.

Spoiler alert: he didn't.

Two weeks after that, he wanted the team to run drills together that involved climbing a short wall as part of the course. The doctor had given him the okay to start working more strenuously, and he happily obliged. He and Amir were on the course and Dalton got a few prongs up before he paused. McG saw it first, but it was too late as something from their line of vision blocked and he collapsed onto the ground.

"TOP!"

Conscious but glassy-eyed, he was staring blankly at the wall before them.

"Top?"

"I got dizzy. I'm alright."

McG was staring at their CO like he was staring at a foreign object. Dalton hadn't moved. Wordlessly, the others around her all radiated concern and panic. As much as they didn't want to say it, they knew something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

Top was short with McG following his request to get checked out. There were several options for this: he was fine (obviously), he over worked himself (of course), he was kidding when he said McG was holding up four fingers (totally), and they were being overprotective and ridiculous (not them, no way). Secretly, she thought it was because she thought he knew deep down that things had changed and he wanted to place the blame of that on someone. The medic was an easy target.

And unfortunately correct.

There were several things to call it. She just wanted to call it bullshit.

Post-Concussion Syndrome. Then, Post Trauma Vertigo. Finally, angrily, Top had announced (with the entire team in the room), "So you're telling me I'm done."

"I'm very sorry," the military doctor stated, probably said many times over the course of his career.

Top stormed the room.

Jaz turned to McG. "The doctor said it might go away."

"Yes, but we're almost four months post injury. Top said it was getting worse."

"Treatment?" she almost pleaded.

"More than likely won't fix the damage." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "We've all been in our fair share of explosions. Eventually, the damage can become permanent. Someone should go talk to him. Or at least not leave him alone."

Preach went to go, but Jaz held up her hand. "Let me."

Jaz found Top outside the hospital, burning holes into a wooded area. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and legs firmly on the ground. From the outside, he looked absolutely fine. According to those with medical degrees, going back out there could kill him. Seemed more fitting than going to the civilian side of things, she couldn't help but think. She knew Dalton had activities he enjoyed during downtime, but he was a man who thrived leading a team. He thrived on adrenaline. And she knew he was too damn young to hang up the metaphorical boots.

"I would say that I don't want to hear a pep talk, but you're not Preach."

"I could try," she said lightly. "I mean, I would really suck at it, but…"

Dalton closed his eyes. "After nearly two decades in service, it all ends here."

"Its bullshit, I'm sorry."

He glanced her way, sighing, "There's nothing back there for me in the states. I got an house in the woods, but I'll be stir crazy in just months." He snorted. "The government will try to find a place for me. None of it matters, does it? It's not this. It's not this team." His breathing quickened and he looked away. "Fuck."

"We could get a second opinion, we could—"

Dalton's fist collided with the concrete wall. She watched as blood trickled through the small tears in his skin. He stared at it as if with curiosity.

Jaz had no idea what to say. She should've let Preach come out here. Dalton sank to the ground, staring at his mangled fist. She sat too, pulling napkins out of her pocket from breakfast that morning. She handed it to him, but he didn't budge. "Adam," she said softly.

He slowly tore his eyes away. There was something missing, the spark.

Her own anger flared for him.

She took her hand and covered his right fist with the napkin, then gave him a pitiful smile. Her hands were in his, if only for a second. He smiled too. Jaz knew every warning sign in the book was flashing, but she didn't care. Then McGuire and Amir's heads appeared near the door, like two lost puppies looking relieved. And then it was over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, the hiatus is definitely here and though the rewatch on twitter tonight was a blast, it does suck that we don't have any new content to talk about. That said, at least we do have such a dedicated fandom who want this show to succeed. That said, thank you for all the love on the first chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy what this shorter chapter has in store. I wanted to get a little into Dalton's head and into how he might feel after finding out such news about his career.**

 **I also left some teasing eggs that some of you might catch-pay attention to what is on the TV when he turns it on, and who the Sergeant is. Sometimes it's fun to poke at the show in a way as such. Sort of like how the show paid homage to Vega in episode two of the show.**

 **Enjoy. ;)**

 **PeaceLoveJaz**

* * *

 _Sooner or later it's over,_

 _I just don't want to miss you tonight_

Dalton made it back to the states a few days later, having been told someone would be in touch. Clad only with a small duffel bag of belongings, he drove from the airport to the small apartment complex he rented when he wasn't deployed. Home to about two dozen occupants, it was just out of the way of the downtown area, wooded and with a hiking trail he liked to frequent. Not quite the town he grew up in, but much like it. Another small town in Pennsylvania.

He meandered up the stairs to the second floor, stopping to give a brief smile to one of the women who lived alone like him. She was middle-aged and he often saw her walking a black Labrador mix. She never said much, but always seemed appreciative and friendly when walking by. A lot of his neighbors knew he only showed up every so often—they all had their stories for him, some knew he was some sort of military, but crazy Mr. Sevens down in apartment 2G thought he worked for some sort of cult.

He ignored a flickering and dimming light in the hall and finally slipped his key into the apartment he hadn't seen in nearly six months. Inside, he was met with a dark room, only when he turned the light on did he see the place he called his second home. If he were honest, the Turkey base was much more home than this. Inside of this barebones apartment was just where he slept and pretended to be normal most of the time.

Dalton dropped his bag near the door and turned on the kitchen light, hoping wherever Patton was on that base right then someone was taking care of him. He should've taken the dog home with him; given him a place to stay with human companionship. Or maybe Top was just lonely.

He slowed near the fridge, opening the white appliance to see nothing but a half used bottle of ketchup and a six pack of beer. Upon further inspection, there was something in the corner near the back growing green fuzz and he decided was probably better left where it was for the time being. Closing the fridge, he made a mental note to head to the store in town later that day.

Continuing his inspection of the house, he stopped in his bedroom, bare of course with only two dressers, a navy colored comforter on his bed, and a desk for when he needed to work from home even if not deployed. It never occurred to him how boring he was outside of his career—even the walls were painted a mute blue. And if he were to be honest, that was as crazy as it got. He walked over to the desk, looking at the plain lamp beside it, seeing nothing but an outdated calendar with his terrible handwriting scattered through that month. Almost six months ago.

Aggravated by his own cleanliness and lack of style, he stomped into the living room where his single couch and TV were stationed, taking the remote and turning it on. He wasn't a TV watcher, but he figured it could pass the time. To his dismay, he only saw a fuzzy screen, and came to the conclusion his cable was not set up. He flicked the remote once, getting one clear free station in—some network TV show talking about a military team, oddly enough. There was a blond man on the front, talking to a brunette woman.

"Sergeant Dean, I think it's time we…"

He turned it off, seeing in the corner of the screen the hashtag 'WatchThoseWhoSacrifice'.

"Great, can't even get away from it when I'm here," he muttered.

Finally, he grew restless again and head out for the store, figuring a shopping trip would at least stock his fridge and keep his mind at bay. He headed downtown, parking near the back of the lot so he had to walk and stretch his legs. Still, he made sure he was aware of his surroundings, a trait from being in the armed forces and was one he hardly broke. He grabbed a shopping cart from the caddy and entered the cool-temperature store, a Fall Out Boy song that McG often listened to playing on the intercom.

He stopped first in the produce section, grabbing a few bananas (he thought of Patton again—damn dog loved Bananas), and a couple apples. Then, he worked his way to the meat section, grabbing a steak and a couple other sources of protein. IF he was stuck here in this town for the foreseeable future, he might as well eat something good. He made a mental note to double check the frozen section before he was done, to make sure he didn't miss anything. Regardless, he took his time picking up the essentials and came to the line nearly an hour later. There were a few people ahead of him, but it was the thin, tall man behind him who nudged his shoulder.

Instantly, before the man even spoke, he was annoyed. Dalton didn't like being touched by people he didn't know.

"Excuse me."

Dalton raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He motioned to Dalton, which at first went over his head. "What branch?"

"What?"

He pointed his finger directly to the dog tags showing on his chest. He internally cursed not putting them underneath, a stupid move he didn't normally do. "Army," he said after a moment, not sure where this conversation was going. Usually, we went one of two ways. Somewhere positive, or somewhere negative…

"Well, thank you for your service. You from around here? I've lived here a couple years now. We don't have a base around here—so you just passing through?"

He blinked and then looked down at his full shopping cart—then to the woman who was checking the particular line out. She was explaining something to an agitated customer. Of course.

"Thanks. And no, I live here."

Officially done talking, too, he thought.

"Wow. I can't believe I've never seen you before. Are you out? I had a cousin whose ex girlfriend's brother's cousin once served in Iraq and he lost his leg and he also suffered from that thing—you know, PTRD or whatever. Sucks, you know? Did you ever deploy? Did you know anyone who died? What rank are you? Did you—"

Dalton suppressed a growl. "Thanks, but I'd rather be left alone. Have a good day."

He turned his back, hoping the man got the hint.

"Dude, I'm sorry. I mean, sir. Uh, crap. I didn't mean to insult you—you probably have that PTRD too! That's a terrible thing to not realize. I just—"

He wanted to turn around and land a punch right between the guy's eyes, but he had self control and enough urge to not get arrested. Still, the man kept talking and Dalton felt his vision blurring, much like it had a few weeks previous, making him swallow thick and grip the shopping cart tighter, hoping it would pass and he wouldn't have to explain to the stranger beside him what was happening, or worse, cause a scene.

The guy still chattered on.

"Hey, sir, you okay?"

Dalton's eyes snapped open, "You should probably use a search engine before you open your mouth next time."

The line moved and he was glad to start loading his groceries, still dizzy, as the man behind him stood stunned.

At home, he didn't feel guilty for what he said to the man on line. People usually meant well, but when they were undereducated to what he and his team went through, particularly teams like his, it made it all the more annoying to try and sit through. Still, he probably could've been nicer to the man, he thought, as he put away cans into the cabinet, watching his steak marinade in a plastic container beside him, but then he figured it would only change things if someone called them out.

He was seconds from putting his bananas and apples in a bowl when his phone buzzed.

To his surprise, it was a text from Jaz.

 _Empty apartments suck. I hope u got enough for 2._

 _What?_ He wrote back.

The doorbell rang.

Jaz stood on the other side, giving him a sly smile.

He stared at her with confusion, not sure how she got there and knew he went shopping, but then realized who he was looking at.

"Fucking ninja," he muttered and Jaz let herself into the apartment.


End file.
